Post-Apocalypse: An Analysis
by anonymously.peeved
Summary: Jamison had planned the ultimate demise of Christopher. What he did not expect was falling in love with his crippled daughter. One-shot.


**Warning: Contains impossibru!pairing, crack!ending, terrible plot elements, and stupidity. _This fanfiction is not meant to be taken seriously._ Read at your own discretion.**

**Disclaimer: Lois Lowry owns Gathering Blue. I only own the plot of this fanfiction. _Parts that you recognise as Lois Lowry's work are hers, not mine. Do not sue me._**

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**Prologue**

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"_Burn, scourged world,_

_Furious furnace,_

_Inferno impure,_

_Ravaged all,_

_Bogo tabal_

_Timore toron_

_Totoo now gone…"_

- The Ruin Song, page 171-172, _Gathering Blue_

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_First page of_ The World: A History, _by Lewis Lulry:_

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"There was once peace.

A wide variety of seeds were planted in rich, fertile soil, blossoming into miniature flowers that basked in the golden sunlight. Nearby, human figures embraced, sealing their lips in a kiss of eternal promise.

There was once love.

Neighbours would help look after each other's tykes as they went hunting, and the hunters would generously share their prey as a token of gratitude. They would later, after their neighbours took their leave, look into their tykes' eyes and whisper how much they were glad they were in one piece.

John, an ordinary boy born in the year 3571, had experienced all these. He could remember nothing of it, though, as he was all but a tyke. His father and mother had conversed softly as he lay asleep in their arms, about his glossy, raven hair, soft, plump lips, but most of all, his crystalline eyes, that sparkled brightly with a haunting glint.

They had decided, the moment he opened his newborn eyes, that he was something special. Remarkable.

Years passed. John grew up.

However, the once-familiar peace and love were gone.

It all started with that fire, that burnt nothing but a few seedlings growing in Ron's backyard. Little harm was caused, but the old man was determined to get revenge. He tracked down the culprit, and set his entire house on fire. The blazing flames consumed the metal structure, along with its residents, in the dark, starry night.

There were more fires. Soon, there were fights, and the village turned into a war-zone. Blood was splattered across the earth, dead bodies lain motionless near the feet of the remaining fighters, their bodies trampled on repeatedly as furious people drove their knives into each other's body.

It was a gruesome sight.

The village leader managed to subdue the animosity, but it returned years later. People realised they loved the scent of fear and the sight of death, fighting from early dawns to late twilights. They grew bolder and burnt greater objects - first cars, then buildings - until it threatened their own survival.

The fights stopped. People rested.

Three days later, when the villagers fully recovered, they fought - without restraint or holding back. Grenades exploded, bombs were detonated - it was a bloody mess, but no one cared. They relished the feel of power in their hands, and fought on.

A seven-year-old John watched curiously as people collapsed, cleverly hidden from view in a makeshift tunnel. He itched to touch the silver blade to hurt someone, but he knew better. He observed carefully and learnt the ways of handling weapons, applying those skills to hunt for food. He was not sure where his parents were, but he could care less. He remembered nothing of their gentleness, only horrifying images of barbaric acts.

Even so, there was still a part of him that was fearful. Fearful of death. He did not want to die young, having his opportunities of slaughter snatched away from him by the hands of Death. He did not sleep, afraid that Death might catch him then. That was what his mother told him, anyway.

John watched on. It was already the thirty-fourth day. Then, there was a flash of blinding light - a beam of hope lighting up the whole town, and John shielded his eyes for a second, the intense light burning his skin. He wondered if the Angels from Heaven had come to help them. He hoped not.

And the whole sky went black. John could not see anything.

He fainted before his mind could register what was happening.

And when he woke up, he felt like a whole new person, in control of the whole wide world. He staggered a little, taking in his surroundings with a feral grin. Everything was wiped out. There were no more houses. No more windmills. No more beautiful flowers. No more fresh, brightly-coloured grass.

John tripped over his own foot, and cursed. There seemed to be one remaining building though, and one remaining woman. He grabbed her scarred legs roughly, dragging her to the resplendent infrastructure, with absolute calm. He felt as if the future was beckoning to him, and taught him everything he needed to know, through the sureness of his steps, and his intense grey orbs.

_One step, two step, three step, four._

He could feel power surging through his veins, as if a part of him has awakened. He flung open the slightly ajar door, and stepped confidently inside. John listened carefully for the building's instructions, and he suddenly knew.

_I am one of the only few survivors._

_I am the chosen one._

_I am destined to rule this place, and exert control over every single being._

_The power is mine. It is mine._

With the dawning of the realisation, John knew that he had nothing to fear. He was special _because he survived. _All along, this piece of land was meant to be his, and its inhabitants his subjects. He tilted his head to one side, listening once again, before chuckling. The future was full of possibilities, and he would realise its full potential.

He definitely would."

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"And that, is the Ruin," said Kirana as she closed the book. "That'll be all for today, Nick."

"But Mama," a three-year-old toddler looked up at his ageing mother with big, round eyes. "I still want to hear some more!"

Kirana smiled at her darling boy affectionately. "What story do you want Mama to tell you?"

"The story of how you and Papa met."

The woman went still, her body stiff and rigid. The tense silence in the room was enough to tell Nick that he had said the wrong words. Ever since her husband's death, she had not mentioned his name once - not even to her son. _Their_ son. It was almost a taboo to talk about him in this family of two.

It was no surprise that Nick finally dropped the bomb. "Please, Mama? I miss Papa. I want me Papa."

_I want me Papa._

_"I'm your friend, Jo. My name is Kira."_

_"Please, I want me mum."_

Unwanted memories started flooding back to Kirana. Memories that she had fought so hard to forget.

"Anything but this, Nick," Kirana said, sighing. "You promised Mama that you wouldn't ask about Papa, didn't you?"

The child pouted and grabbed his mother's hands with determination. "But I miss Papa awful bad," he begged, "Please?"

Kirana laughed. "Your hands were just as strong as mine when I was young," she mused, with a distant look in her eyes. Instead of replying to her tyke, she continued: "I was born with a twisted leg, but I had fingers so strong they gripped my mother's own thumb fiercely and would not let go. I was to be taken to the Field back then."

"The Field of Leaving?"

"Yes. But my mother said no. And, of course, my grandfather was still alive. He was old then, four syllables, and he had been the leader of the people, the chief guardian, for a long time. They respected him. And my father would have been a greatly respected leader too had he not been..."

"Mama?"

But Kirana was already crying. She had not wept when her husband died. It did break her heart to see Draggers take him to the Field, but she knew she had to be strong for her child - pain made her strong.

_You're lying to yourself._

She could not stop crying now. She had sacrificed too much. She had given up too much.

_She loves him. He means the world to her._

"Jamison," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "That's his name."

Fate played a cruel trick on her.

"He tried to kill my father."

Nick looked at his mother with wonder. "Say Papa's name again."

"Jamison."

"Jam...?"

"Jamison, Nick."

"Why would Jam-papa do such a thing?"

Should she tell him about the cruelty of men?

"Men are savage creatures. They are no different from beasts," Kirana said solemnly, stroking her son's hair. "My father had already been chosen to be a guardian, but your father was hungry for power. He wanted to take _his_ place, you see."

Nick's face fell. "But why, Mama, why?"

Kirana cradled his son's head. "I wonder about that too."

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**Post-Apocalypse: An Analysis**

_inspired by _the angsty witch

_boring Literature text_

_sexy descriptions of Jamison_

_and my passion for_

_shipping_

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_25 years ago…_

The chamber inside Council Edifice was spacious. Not that Kira had not known this before. She had been here thirteen times in her entire lifetime, attending the annual Gathering and listening to the Ruin Song.

This was her fourteenth time, Kira thought with a heavy heart. She had yet to turn fourteen, though – she was not here for the Gathering.

She was here for a trial.

Beside her stood a woman of tall stature, her dark eyes burning intensely into the back of her skull. Kira could feel her unadulterated hatred as she began her verbal attack on Kira.

"The girl should have been taken to the Field when she was born and still nameless. It is the way."

"Go on," said the Chief Guardian.

Vandara was her name. She was ruthless, brutal and selfish. In her eyes Kira could almost see the poison of abhorrence, raw and bitter, just like the leaves of Oleander. Kira licked her dry lips and she anticipated the next wave of attack.

"She was imperfect. And fatherless as well. She should not have been kept. We have all tolerated her presence for these years, but she has not contributed. She cannot dig or plant or weed, or even tend the domestic beasts the way other girls her age do. She drags that dead leg around like a useless burden. She is slow, and she eats a lot. She was kept, against the rules, because her grandfather was still alive and had power.

But he is long gone, replaced by a new leader with more power and wisdom. Her father was killed by beasts even before her birth. And now her mother is dead. There is even reason to think that her mother may have carried an illness that will endanger others, and the women need the space where their cott was.

There is no room for this useless girl. She can't marry. No one wants a cripple. She takes up space, and food, and she causes problems with the discipline of the tykes, telling them stories, teaching them games so that they make noise and disrupt the work – "

"Enough," said the Chief Guardian, raising his left hand. He turned to the other girl. "Kira, as a two-syllable girl, you are not required to defend yourself."

"Not defend myself? But – "

"Because of your youth, you have a choice. You may defend yourself – "

"Oh, yes! I want to def – "

"Or we will appoint a defender on your behalf. One of us will defend you, using our greater wisdom and experience. Take a moment to think about this, because your life may depend upon it, Kira."

Thousands of thoughts ran through her mind, and Kira suddenly felt a wave of nausea. She could not afford to make the wrong choice. It would come at the price of her life. Maybe it was because of _those_ calm, attentive eyes, or the scrap of decorated cloth in her pocket. Either way, Kira had made her choice.

"Please appoint a defender."

That's it. She could not take those words back anymore.

The Chief Guardian nodded. "Jamison," he said assertively, nodding to the third man on his left.

Kira almost wished she had not said those words, for the moment their eyes met, her world turned upside-down.

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"You know what to do, Jamison," said the Chief Guardian. "Defend that girl after the accuser has stated all the accusations. I will not accept failure."

"Yes, Father," was the nonchalant reply, as the younger man examined his nails with boredom. "Do not doubt me."

The Chief Guardian laughed. "Of course, Jamison, of course. I can already see the beginning of something remarkable in your eyes. You have learnt well, I see."

Jamison ignored his father as he skimmed through another stack of documents. "Kira, huh?" he mumbled. "Christopher's daughter…"

"You have completed your previous assignment well," the Chief Guardian commented proudly. "It'll be a bother if he's still around."

"Indeed," Jamison said, his eyes never once leaving the piece of document containing everything he needed to know about his victim. "…good at sewing, huh? That's an interesting gift."

"I trust that you know what to do with her after this."

"It'll be too easy. She is just an ignorant lamb," smirked Jamison, meeting his father's dark gaze with his own. "I will do your proud, Father."

"I expect you to surpass me one day, Jamison. Surpass the Great Jonathanae – creator of this new world, this new age!" the Chief Guardian roared with laughter. "Survive like how I did when I was all but a one-syllable tyke named John. Be merciless. Be cruel. Fight and kill without feeling pity for your opponents. Only the victors would survive_."_

Jamison looked at him calmly. "And I will kill you one day, Father."

"Don't be too certain, m'boy," smiled Jonathanae. "Don't forget, I have one-syllable worth of experience more than you do. _I can kill better than you._"

"No, Father. After I'm done with that girl, I'll have my bare fingers around your neck, and you will be begging for mercy. I'll spare none, of course, for that's what you have taught me. _You will die because of your own teachings_."

"I am looking forward to that day," Jonathanae smiled once again. "Only then will you truly become a man."

Jamison smirked knowingly as he arranged his writing materials neatly on the table. "It's nearly time."

As if on cue, the door guard shouted, "The accused orphan girl Kira is here!"

No one could see through his emotionless mask, but deep down, Jamison was grinning madly. Oh, how he could not wait to play with his new toy, and destroy it afterwards.

_Let the fun begin._

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"I will address the accusations one by one."

So, _he_ was Jamison. The tall, lanky man had stood, picking up the stack of papers on the table before him. His longish dark hair, neatly combed and clasped at the back of his neck with a carved wooden ornament, reached the middle of his spine with royal elegance.

He wore a bracelet of braided leather on his right wrist. His arm, bare above the bracelet, was sinewy and muscular. Kira blushed. The separation of male and female was so great after childhood had ended, that Kira had not really seen many grown men.

Needless to say, her defender – Jamison – was her very first one, and it did not help that he was a fine specimen of his gender, too. She lowered her head and berated herself mentally. _Now was not the time to be distracted! _If her defender failed, her life would not be spared, and she would be fed to the beasts.

" 'The girl should have been taken to the Field when she was born and still nameless. It is the way,'" Jamison read loudly from his meticulous notes, his baritone voice sending chills down her spine.

_So that was what he had marked! He had written the words so that he could repeat them! _Kira thought, her eyes widening in wonder. _I've never thought of that_. Even though Kira knew that Jamison probably had done this a thousand times before, she found herself admiring the man for his fairness and wisdom.

"The accuser is correct that it is the way."

_What? Aren't you my defender? _Before Kira could dwell on the sharp sting of betrayal she felt, Jamison continued: "Turning though, to the third set of amendments, it is clear that exceptions can be made."

The other Guardians mumbled in approval, and Kira just stared. She had no time to react. Things were happening way too fast.

"This applies to the other accusations as well. Well, most anyway," Jamison drawled, flipping his notebook. "Those that are not covered under the amendment are deemed invalid. Does she eat a lot? I think not. Look how thin she is. Her weight refutes that accusation."

Kira gaped at him. _Do defenders all speak so eloquently_? She blushed again as Jamison leaned forward slightly, slightly revealing his smooth, pale neck.

"As the accuser, Vandara, you are allowed to rebut my decisions, should you feel that they are illogical or contain loopholes. Of course, as Kira's defender, I'll be very happy to find other reasons to refute them again."

He said her name. _Kira_. She allowed herself to smile. Just a bit.

"Ouch." Kira squirmed uncomfortably as she felt the ache in her twisted leg intensify. She shifted her weight from one leg to another, but Jamison seemed to notice her awkward posture, for he instructed her to demonstrate her flaw to them.

"Kira, let us see you walk. Go to the door and back."

Kira did not know whether to shrink away in shame or walk with pride. For a moment, she was tempted to refuse, but she knew better. From what she had observed, Jamison had done everything with good intentions – to help her win this case, and allow her to live.

She must not doubt him.

With painstaking efforts, Kira limped to the door and back with a gait like that of a defeated soldier's. She looked down, embarrassed, and wondered what Jamison would think of her now. She really hoped that her defender would not be repulsed by her despite her physical disability.

Jamison cocked his head to one side. "She does drag her leg, and she is slow. I concede those points. Yet her work at the weaving shed is competent. She goes each day for regular hours, and she is never late. The women there value her help."

He then smiled at Vandara. "What do you have to say?"

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Jamison thought he could never feel attraction.

He was proven wrong as the two-syllable girl stepped confidently into the chamber. He was prepared for her crippled leg, but not her face. If he was being honest, Kira did look pretty with her cute button nose, soft, petite and stature, and smooth, wavy hair.

What really drew him to her, however, was that pair of magnetic eyes. He could see all her pain, humiliation and sufferings, but there was always a spark of light – as if there was hope.

But that's all it ever was: attraction. Perhaps, there was also the factor of lust and male hormones, but it affected him little. Ever since young, Jamison had been trained to deal with his manly impulses, and he could not even count the number of scars left on his body as a result of his 'training'.

Jamison stood up. He talked. He made the accuser feel bad. He then sat down. But he realised that he looked at Kira a lot more times than was necessary. He did feel worried and fidgety, but he refused to let it show.

The son of the Chief Guardian could not, and would not, show that he had been affected, by a _woman_, nonetheless.

It was just that Kira looked too weak and vulnerable. The sadistic side of him thought she looked prettiest when she was fearful – her sweet lips forming an opening in anticipation, her round eyes widening as she stared at him in horror, and her chest heaved as she held her breath, awaiting the final decision.

"The orphan girl Kira will stay. She will have a new role."

Jamison smirked as she let out a sigh of relief, not noticing that he had been observing her all along.

Everything was going according to plan.

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_After 7 months…_

As she smoothed the wrinkles of the Singer's Robe, Kira felt the fatigue from countless nights of insomnia taking its toll on her body. Ever since the Hearing, she had been unable to sleep well due to her new role as a Robe-Threader.

_Repair. Restore. Complete._

That was the only thing on her mind as she did her work every day. Jamison had made it very clear right after she had been spared. "First, you will repair the robe, as your mother always did. Next, you will restore it. Then your true work will begin. You will complete the robe."

Other than her work, Jamison had always been keeping her awake at her. His disembodied voice would always haunt her in her dreams, booming the same words ominously, "Kira, I will have you. You cannot escape from me…"

After that, there would be flashes of beasts scratching at a man's throat, which were blurred by the silhouette of a man raising a club over his head, ready to strike his victim. Then, very slightly, the attacker would turn, but it was enough for Kira to see his face.

"Jamison?" Kira said, roughly ten minutes after his arrival. He had come to inspect her work, but at the sound of her voice, he looked up.

"Yes, Kira?" he said, smiling.

Seeing Jamison's broad smile, Kira looked away nervously. "Say, what does it mean to dream about someone…attacking another person?"

Jamison laughed and pulled Kira in for a quick hug. "What have you been up to again, silly girl?" Affronted, Kira pushed him away and frowned. "I'm serious. It unsettles me."

"Who was it?" Jamison smiled, but the smile did not quite reach his eyes. His facial muscles were all taut, and it was at times like this when Kira felt really scared of him.

"I am not sure," she asked carefully.

"Is that so?" Jamison said lightly, brushing her face with his smooth fingers. Kira trembled. "Tell me what that dream means," she insisted.

"It just means that you have not been sleeping well. Do you need any calming herbs? I have plenty of them. All you have to do is ask."

Kira shook her head quickly, scared that Jamison had already discovered her secret. "No, don't worry. I'm fully rested." She, too, tried to smile, but if anything, it looked more like an awkward grimace.

Jamison looked at her suspiciously. Then, his expression lightened. "Well, I'll be on my way then!" he said pleasantly. "You've done a good job, as usual. I dare say the Robe would look fabulous this year!"

Kira grinned. "You're so kind. Thank you."

There was an unreadable expression on Jamison's face, but it left as quickly as it came. After bidding her goodbye, he left, which provided a good opportunity for Kira to think things over.

Why was Jamison about to attack someone in her dreams? What was he trying to do? Or was she just overthinking it?

But she had dreamt that dream at least ten times – the same dream, playing over and over again in the darkness of night. It was really scaring Kira, because she had this feeling that it was not just a dream anymore.

It might be reality.

"I must be going crazy," grumbled Kira, picking up her threads and packing them up. Once again, those words pounded in her head: "Kira, I will have you. You cannot escape from me…"

That was when she noticed it: a velvet box. Did Jamison accidentally leave it behind? Kira reached for the small object on the table, and opened it.

A brilliant diamond ring dazzled brightly, and a line of letters were engraved on them. Then there was a note, which she could not read.

Sighing, she closed the box and wondered whom it was meant for. She did not think about it for the rest of the day.

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Jamison was pacing back and forth impatiently. He kept glancing at his watch, wondering why Kira had not arrived. He had already stated all the details in the note. What was there not to understand?

"Meet me at the basement at 7.30p.m. Don't be late."

Infuriating girl.

He was thinking about her so much that he did not watch his steps carefully. "AHH!" he screamed as he stepped on a banana peel.

He slipped and fell.

He died.

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It was extremely unfortunate that Kira had to find out the truth the hard way. The perfect impression she had of Jamison crumbled to pieces after she finished reading his diary, which she had found in the lowest drawer while cleaning up his room.

"12 January 2013

Dear Diary,

I can't believe that I am attracted to a cripple! Look at her misshapen leg – it resembles a chicken wing. This is just unbelievable. Is that what people call lust at first sight? I seriously hate my raging hormones sometimes. By the way, Dad has been pretty nasty to me. I swear I'm going to kill him one day.

Love,

Jamison"

"5 March 2013

Dear Diary,

Kira looks so gorgeous and edible in the Singer's Robe! Well – she hasn't worn it yet, but I can envision her curvaceous figure fitting perfectly in the robe. Oh, and her beautiful stitches! I really do envy her gift sometimes. It would be wonderful if I can wear matching sleeping robes with her after we make love. Yes, I shall ask her to do it right after the Gathering.

Love,

Jamison"

"8 June 2013

Dear Diary,

I think it is cool how much I enjoy torturing that Jo kid. Seeing her scream and writhe in agony make me a happier man. I swear – it's always the highlight of my day. I didn't see Kira much today because Dad has asked for her. I really hope he would not touch her beautiful body with his slimy fingers. _She is mine_.

Love,

Jamison."

"7 October 2013,

Dear Diary,

I hear many students screaming like banshees today. I wonder why. Apparently, their Literature (what's that?) EYAs (enjoyable yummy abs?) are over. Some have talked about burning the world which I live in – Gathering Blue. There's even a student who has threatened to defenestrate that world (book?) – I have no idea how she's going to do it. Anyway, I'm scared. If my world is really going to end soon, I don't have much time. Quick, raping Kira is on my to-do list for 8 October 2013.

Love,

Jamison"

Kira fainted with a smile on her face. She never knew that Jamison loved her that much. After three long years of hospitalisation, she adopted a kid and named him Nick because Jamison had expressed his wish to 'have a child with her'. She had decided that he would eventually be called Nickirason because it sounded like Kira and Jamison. In the words of the wise ones, it was called a 'ship name', and are good for 'strengthening bonds'.

"I love you, Jamsion," she whispered as she knelt before his grave. "I will always love you." She put a stalk of red roses on the floor, and watched his soul take its leave for four sunsets and sunrises.

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**Epilogue**

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Nicky visited Kiranana with a bouquet of carnations. He entered the ward quietly, and tried not to flinch as his mother hugged him from behind.

"Jamison," she cooed. "You've come to visit me."

"For the last time, I'm Nicky, Ma," he said gruffly. "Here's some flowers for you. Get well soon."

"Do you love those roses that I gave you twenty-five years back?" Kiranana giggled, her cheeks flushing crimson. "Are you going to propose to me now?"

Nicky ignored her strange squeals and waved to the nurse. "How's she doing now?"

The nurse shook her head sadly. "She's not showing any sign of recovery."

Nicky banged his forehead against the wall. "Damn this. Tell me how this happened again."

The nurse tried to smile sympathetically. "After reading Mr. Jamison's diary, Ms. Kiranana fainted, and only came round three years later. We thought she was fine at first, but strange actions such as…" she swallowed nervously, darting a look at Nicky,"…well, adopting you, have brought to our attention, and we realised that she had been suffering from mental illness due to too much shock."

She looked at the bedridden woman, sighing.

"And she had been here ever since. What a waste of talent…"

Nicky nodded and looked at his mother oddly. "I still can't believe she adopted me just because of a _stupid diary entry_."

"Who knows? Mentally ill people are known to do all sorts of things. Be grateful that she hasn't tried to rape you yet."

Nicky sighed too. "Yeah, I guess. I have a screwed up life. Born to screwed up parents. Maybe that's all I'll ever be – a screwed up boy."

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**Disclaimer: Lois Lowry owns Gathering Blue. I only own the plot of this fanfiction. _Parts that you recognise as Lois Lowry's work are hers, not mine. Do not sue me._**

Once again, _this fanfiction is not meant to be taken seriously._ Hope you have had fun.


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